Skyrim: Kiss the Void
by DoomDesireforLove
Summary: Jakiil is death incarnate. Death at a young age let him join a mysterious and dark group. His fate is intertwined between legends and myths. Legends don't kill people. Legends don't burn down villages. Please comment and PM.


Chapter One: Sinner

He loved playing outside for only a few reasons. The first was the calm air filling his little lungs. Most six year olds his age loved to play outside as well. But the main reason Jakiil loved to be outside, was to get away from his mead soaked father. It was true, most men in Skyrim loved to drink fine mead and revel in battle stories but Jakiil's father had no stories, no claim to fame. All he had was rage and Jakiil. The rage his father had was pointed at the only other thing he had; Jakill. He spent the nights swinging in a drunken blur at his only son. Cuts and bruises were blamed on activities outside, but Jakiil knew better. He knew that not all parents acted this way. He learned from the few friends he had that his father was infamous for the hell he put others though. He was out late at night causing trouble wherever he went. One night while his father was out getting his overfill of mead, Jakiil snuck up to the upper loft of his small home. Ever since he could remember, he wore a key around his neck that he hid from his father. He made it a habit of trying to fit the strange key into many locks around the cold village of Rorikstead. The loft had been a place that was forbidden by Jakiil's father. He wasn't able to while the man was around. His lavender eyes searched the room as well as they could. He hadn't put much thought into how his eyes actually were highly advanced. He could spot just about anything about everything. With only a few seconds he felt a strange draw towards a corner of the room. Even his eyes slightly changed color as he found his way to a hidden panel on the wall. He barely touched it and a bright set of markings appeared. He felt the markings speaking to him in a whisper. A small chunk of wood moved to the side and a box about 12 inches in length was resting inside of the untouched opening. It didn't seem very noticeable at first but a dark flowing energy poured out of the sides of it. Jakiil wasn't frightened by it, but intrigued. He touched it gently and removed it from the wall. It had a keyhole on the broadest side. He pulled off the key around his neck as if in a daze fitting it's strange design into the keyhole. With a turn the lid popped open on it's hinges. A jagged dagger was inside with a scroll on top of it. The blade was an ivory color and spikes riddles the sides. Jakill gripped the handle and lifted it out and a sheath out. The scroll fell to the floor as Jakiil heard a scream downstairs,

"Jakiil! Where in the name of Oblivion are you?"

He knew his father would find him in the loft soon enough. He sheathed the blade and tried to sneak by yet was yanked upward from his hair. He cried out as he was thrown into a wall. His father struck him over and over until he was laying in a small puddle of his own blood. This wasn't just another beating, he was trying to kill him. His father was screaming,

"You ungrateful little milkdrinker. Here i am, i adopt you and raise you just for you to break my rules."

Jakiil's voice was weak and full of heartache. His 'father' wasn't even his real father.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore!"

All the love he had for the man he called father vanished in an instant. The man that had abused him for all this time was a complete stranger. A dark intent flooded his mind as he kicked the drunk man in the chin from the ground. Jakiil drew the blade he had found and charged the dazed man. A wild swing missed the six year old. Jakiil shouted out,

"Die bastard!"

The blade had pierced deep into the man's chest letting blood drip out of his quivering lips. He pulled the blade out letting that nightmare of a man crash to the floor. Jakiil's body was shaking as he dropped to the floor panting. He had just killed a man. His hands were stained with warm red that spread around the floor. It took all of his might not to cry, but in the end his eyes burned enough to beckon the salty relief. He packed enough rations to let himself survive for a while and left Rorikstead. He looked back to see the house he had set ablaze. The six year old boy walked around with the dagger hanging from his hip. HIs Sinful journey had only just begun.

A few months of scrounging around brought food to Jakiil, at least enough to sustain himself. Even with the little food he had the winter soon creeped up on him. He lit fires not only to keep away the wolves but to warm his body. One night death seemed imminent as he drifted away, the fire dying as fast as he was. He looked to the side to see a girl running to his side, her warm touch on his pale face. An older boy lifted him from the frozen hearth and carried him away along with the girl. She followed with his words,

"Come now Astrid. Let's get this boy somewhere safe."

Jakiil awoke to furs wrapped around his body and a warm fire not too far away from him. He looked around observing the medium sized house he was now in. The girl realized he was awake when he sat up aching from head to toe. She was about the same age as he was,

"Your up. Are you okay little boy?"

"My name is Jakiil, not 'little boy'. And I think I'm alright. You can call me Jak if you want. Who are you?"

"My name is Astrid. My friend Alnbjorn found you and we brought you home with us."

"I see. But what of your parents? Do they mind if I live here?"

"My parents don't live here anymore. My uncle stops by once or twice a week to check on me."

Her eyes went sullen as soon as she mentioned her uncle. Jakiil sensed a great deal of pain from this girl, yet he couldn't do anything to comfort her. Just as he got up to move around, A tall man stood in the doorway. His face was rigid and cold. He was definitely a sinner.


End file.
